


Typecasting 101

by Gaffsie



Series: Porn Stars [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Daddy Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riverdale Kink Meme, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaffsie/pseuds/Gaffsie
Summary: Written forthis kinkmeme prompt: Jughead and FP are (unrelated) gay porn actors. Their first project together has them cast as son and dad. They both get off on the fantasy.





	Typecasting 101

There's nothing special about this shoot. The set is the regular bare-bones nondescript apartment furnished with crap from IKEA, the script is short and to the point, and the god-awful suit they've put FP in might be out of character from the usual biker-threads he's usually in, but it's nothing he's never worn before.

Not even the part is new to him. He's starred in pseudo-incest porn before. 

The kid they've got him working with though; he's new.

His porn name is “Cody”, which is so generic it's laughable, but when he came on set and shook FP's hand he quietly introduced himself as “Jughead”, so FP can't blame him for being a cliché. He hadn't said much else before he excused himself to go to his dressing room and get prepared, but his smile had looked genuine enough.

He's a pretty kid, with dark hair that falls in an playful wave over his eye, with a generous mouth and moles scattered over his face. Kind of delicate looking, and not someone FP necessarily would have cast as a bratty jock, but then FP wouldn't have cast himself as a responsible white-collar father either, so what does he know.

The director is an old friend, so they chat for a while while they wait for Jughead to get ready. FP learns that Jughead is pretty new; that he got started in the business through his camgirl girlfriend, but that he's very professional. FP approves. Some of the younger guys can be kind of disckish – more into themselves than the material, and FP's been in the business long enough to be wary of guys who don't pull their own weight around a shoot. Never makes for good films, and in this business it's key to keep the subscribers happy.

Jughead doesn't take long, and soon enough he's stalking onto the set wearing his costume. FP can't help but smirk when he sees the varsity jacket and shorts they've put him in. He's got a nicely toned body, but FP's willing to bet he's never handled a football in his _life_.

“Ready to go, slugger”? He asks him, and Jughead startles. He looks good when he's taken by surprise, blue eyes wide and innocent-looking. Then he smirks, and the illusion of innocence is gone.

“Sure, dad.” he says, softly, but with a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Great, guys,” the director says, and claps his hands. “So we'll start by the door. 'Jeremy' here has missed his curfew, and his daddy is angry with him. We're talking a little manhandling by the door, and then over to the couch for a solid belting, and then an apology blowjob and a hard fuck. Real basic stuff.”

Jughead disappears behind the front door, and FP takes his mark on the couch, legs spread to showcase his bulge, tie askew and shirtsleeves rolled up. There's a tumbler with what's supposed to be whiskey, but FP knows is ice tea, standing on the living room table, so he picks it up.

“And, action!” he hears, and he takes a sip from the glass, glances meaningfully at the wall clock which someone has taken the time to set to half-past 2 and listens for his cue.

Jughead is already working the lock, and FP is actually a little impressed with how clumsily he does it – like he's really a tipsy teenager who's trying to sneak in under his father's watchful eye.

He tiptoes through the door, and closes it with a relieved sigh that's probably overkill, because chances are the mike won't pick it up, but FP appreciates it nonetheless. FP's always liked a little ambiance in his scenes.

FP puts down his glass and stalks over to the door, and when Jughead turns around, he's right there, up in his space.

“What do you think you're doing, kid, coming home at this hour?” he says, and Jughead stands up straighter, gets in his face.

“What does it look like, _dad_?” he sneers, and it's perfect for the character, but FP is struck by the thought that if Jughead really was his son, this isn't the way it would go down. He'd be soft, FP decides, apologetic. He'd press his back against the door, shrink away, not try to antagonize him further. FP likes that idea, but tries to stay in the moment anyway.

“It looks like you need a lesson in manners, boy,” FP says, _growls_ really, and grabs Jughead by his bicep. Jughead snarls at him and makes a show of pushing back, so FP slaps him, over the face. It's showy, but FP knows it looks damn hot on camera. Hell, it looks hot from where he's standing too. Jughead gasps and bends his head, that ridiculously coiffed lock of hair falling in his eyes, and FP thinks to himself that the kid was made to be roughed up. He's got this look of wounded pride about him that makes FP look forward to the belting a lot more than he thought he would. 

He tightens his grip on Jughead's arm and drags him to the couch where he gives him a rough shove so he falls over the armrest. 

“What the fuck, dad?” Jughead says, and staggers up, glaring daggers at FP. It's really fucking adorable, FP decides, because varsity jacket or not, Jughead is not intimidating in the least. He definitely cute though, trying so hard to play the bad boy. 

“Your curfew was at eleven, boy,” FP says, “and you know what the consequences are.”

“Fuck you,” Jughead spits. “I'm sixteen, I don't have to listen to you any more.” 

FP has to bite down a smile. He can't imagine that Jughead at sixteen was anything like this, but he's really giving the part his all. FP hasn't had this much fun at a shoot in a long time.

“As long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules.” 

FP points dramatically at Jughead's scowling face. “And if you think you can stay out all night fucking cheerleaders, you're wrong.”

Jughead actually slaps his hand away. “Like you can do anything about it, old man,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and FP grins.

“Yeah?” he says. “You wanna play it that way? Fine by me.”

He grabs Jughead by his waist this time, practically throws him down on the couch, and while he's still unbalanced, he roughly pulls down Jughead's shorts, exposing his tight little ass.

“Dad!” Jughead wails and tries to struggle out of his grip, “you can't do this.”

“Looks to me like I can do anything I want to you, Jeremy.” FP says, feeling kind of proud that he actually remembers the name. He's got one hand on Jughead's back, pushing him into the couch, and with his other he snaps open his belt. It's leather, but the clasp is a simple one, and he's able to get it open and pull it out of his belt loops with just one hand.

“Daddy, please, no, not the belt,” Jughead says, almost sobbing really. “I'll do anything,” and that feels real, that feels like Jughead. He'd be so good for his daddy, FP thinks, not like Jeremy at all.

“Tell you what, boy,” FP says and pulls him up to his feet, shorts still tangled around his ankles, “be a good boy, and I'll go easy on you.”

“Yeah?” Jughead says, and his voice might be soft, but the teasing glint in his eyes from before is back.

FP grabs him by the scruff of his neck, and gives him a rough shake. He'd really like to gently brush his hair from his eyes, but that doesn't really fit with the scene.

“Over the couch,” he says, pointing to the armrest, and Jughead actually shoots it an apprehensive look before hobbling over to it, bending down like he's really just a cocky teen afraid of the beating he's about to receive from his daddy. FP's impressed.

FP is right behind him, standing between his spread legs and pushing his face into the cushions – making sure that Jughead's facing the camera, because he's a professional, thank you very much.

“I'm gonna enjoy this,” FP says. He trails the belt over Jughead's backside, watches him flinch with a sense of satisfaction. 

He raises his hand, waits a moment like that, letting the anticipation build. He's not so sure it's just for the audience's sake this time – something about this kid in this scenario has his blood running hot. 

And then he lets go.

He's not as rough as he could be, obviously; this isn't supposed to be a BDSM shoot. Jughead still whimpers like it though, and FP would be lying if he said it doesn't go straight to his dick. He keeps squirming on the couch, his ass raising to meet the belt, hissing at every faint red mark that appears.

Again, FP gets caught up in the fantasy of it, of Jughead being his boy, for real. He wouldn't need the belt, FP thinks. Just a spanking from time to time, to remind him who his daddy is. No stupid varsity jacket either, just Jughead, his t-shirt rucked up to his armpits, pants around his ankles, lying over his daddy's lap and taking everything FP has to give him without complaint. _Such a good boy_ , FP thinks, picturing Jughead's sweetly bent head and tear-stained face.

He doesn't have to imagine the whimpers, because right now Jughead-as-Jeremy is delivering them. 

He releases the belt, and hauls Jughead up from the couch.

He smirks when he glances down and notices his erection. Jughead's shaved, because of course he is, and his dick is curving sweetly up against his abdomen, looking pink and vulnerable. His balls are drawn tight, and what FP really wants to do is to suck on them. Instead he grabs Jughead by his dick.

“What a dirty, perverted boy you are,” FP hisses to him. “Getting hard from your daddy beating your ass. Is your slut girlfriend not doing her job, son?”

“Fuck you, dad,” Jughead says. 

“I thought we agreed you were going to be a good boy,” FP says. “Or do you want another beating?” He raises his eyebrow challengingly.

“No!” Jughead protests. “I'll be good, I swear. I'll do _anything_.”

FP pretends to look thoughtful. “In that case,” he says, “why don't you start by sucking me off. Get my dick nice and wet so I can give you the fucking you clearly need.”

He gives Jughead's shoulders a light push, and down he goes, his knees hitting the shag carpet with a soft 'thump'.

He looks good like that, his face a little red, eyes blue and mischievous, and that damn lock of hair falling over his forehead. FP really wishes that this shoot called for a facial, because he just knows Jughead would look perfect with FP's come in his hair, sticky white against silky black.

“Get to work, son,” he growls, and undoes the button on his fly. 

“Yes, _daddy_ ,” Jughead breathes, and bats FP's hands away in his hurry to get to his prize. FP grabs his hair with one hand, still being mindful of the camera angle. If it was just the two of them, you better believe he'd grip Jughead's hair with both hands, but now he lets one hang uselessly by his side so the camera won't miss anything.

Jughead makes quick work of his fly – definitely a pro – and delicately works FP's dick out of the opening. 

“It's so big,” he says, and, almost helplessly, leans in to lick it, like he just can't live another second without having FP's dick in his mouth. The cheesy lines, FP could do without, but that awe in his voice is too real to be acted, and FP has to fight against his instinct to just fuck into that soft mouth, make Jughead struggle not to gag on his length.

“Better make it nice and wet, son,” is what he says instead, “because all you're getting is your spit.”

Jughead's hands grabs hold of him just above his knees, and he leans in again, starts working his mouth over FP's shaft. FP looks down at him, _can't_ look away from the sight of him. His eyes are closed, long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks, and he looks content like this, with FP's dick stretching his mouth.

FP wants to stay quiet, wants to focus on the obscene, wet, sounds of Jughead working his mouth up and down FP's flesh, his little sighs and subvocal moans. _Such a good boy,_ he thinks again.

What he says is, “always knew you were a slut, boy.” 

He pushes Jughead off his dick, taking perverse pleasure in the way his cock brushes Jughead's cheek, leaving a trail of precome and spit in its wake, the way Jughead falls back on his ass, mouth red, swollen and glistening, and his cock looking painfully hard as it bobs against his stomach. He's panting hard, like he just ran a marathon, and FP wants to _wreck_ him. By the look of his eyes, dark now, the blue irises almost eclipsed by his pupils, Jughead wants the same thing.

On his way to the couch, he pats Jughead's shoulder. “Take off that ridiculous jacket,” he says. “Cock-sluts like you don't get to wear clothes.”

He sits down on the couch, picks up his glass again, and sips it as he watches Jughead shed his clothes. Jacket, t-shirt, shorts, shoes. The tube socks stay on though, looking faintly ridiculous. 

Nothing ridiculous about the sight of Jughead sinking down on FP's cock though. His body is nicely toned, hairless - FP bets that he doesn't have to shave much of it – and his body opens easily to the intrusion, and as much as FP gets the appeal of the fantasy of the inexperienced kid getting his first real good fucking, he likes this more. Likes knowing that Jughead's prepared himself for this, stretched himself in the shower, maybe even wore a plug so he'd be nice and loose for FP's cock. _God_ , but that does things to him, and he just knows that if he was Jughead's daddy he'd keep that boy fucked open and ready for the taking, just. like. this.

It's a struggle to sit still when all he really wants is to push Jughead down on the floor and just _take_ , and by the look in Jughead's eyes he sees it. FP's clutching his glass so hard he thinks it might break. Jughead smirks at him, looking like a spoiled little prince on his throne, and FP badly wants to wipe that satisfied cat-that-got-the-cream look off his infuriatingly pretty face, fuck him until he begs and then keep going until he's whimpering again.

“C'mon, son”, he says. “Better make this good for your daddy.”

And Jughead does, pushing his body up and down in a sinuous arc. He feels deliciously tight around FP's cock, and his eyelashes are fluttering coquettishly when he leans in to kiss him. FP finally puts down the glass on the table, gets his hands around Jughead's sides, and slams him down, sets his own pace. Jughead gasps, and when FP slips him some tongue, he moans helplessly around it. FP grins against his mouth. Seems the kid likes a firm hand. 

It doesn't take long after that. Jughead bounces on FP's cock like he was made for it, moaning like the porn-star he is, and he actually comes like that, without his cock even getting touched. He tightens around FP's dick, and it's a fucking miracle that FP doesn't come right then and there. It's not even that sweet pressure around his dick that does it, it's the look on the kid's face, like he's _wrecked_ from it, like life has afforded him no higher pleasure than fucking himself on FP's dick.

Just in time, Jughead remembers to shout out, “daddy!” as he comes. 

FP growls, pulls out, gives himself a couple of hard tugs, and comes all over the kid's crotch.

“That's my boy,” he grits out. 

“Cut!”, the director yells, and Jughead falls down against FP's chest like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” he mumbles against FP's shoulder. “That was so unprofessional of me.”

Gently, now that the scene is over, FP puts a hand on Jughead's face, forces him to meet his eyes. He's blushing, from exertion and embarrassment both, and if FP was a younger man, he'd be rearing up for round two already. 

“You'll hear no complaints from me, boy,” he says. He smiles at him, and Jughead averts his eyes. _Seriously, such a good boy_.

As far as FP is concerned, if the director has any problems with it, he can go fuck himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit welcome, because I need any help I can get.


End file.
